


In which Dave and Terezi go to Cadillac Ranch, Texas

by sunsmasher



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsmasher/pseuds/sunsmasher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's not a lot in between Los Angeles and Houston, and even less of it is worth stopping for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Dave and Terezi go to Cadillac Ranch, Texas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadSeason (naive_wanderer)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naive_wanderer/gifts).



> Originally written at 3am for the inestimable madseason, the big dave/terezi on campus, who wanted her otp on a road trip. Who was I to disoblige her.

“Dave, why are we stopping?”

“I have a surprise for you, my little razor-blade-disguised-as-halloween-candy—”

“That is the worst nickname since Los Angeles and I am very disappointed in you, Mr. Strider, I will have to contact your parent or guardian to report–”

“Give me a fucking break, Terezi, I’ve been driving nonstop since Gallup—”

“Ooo! Is that the surprise? Are you going to let me operate the car?”

“Mother of Christ, no, girl, not by the bladed edge of you chinny-chin-chin. Soon as you put your hands the on the wheel, Homeland Security punts the threat level straight from yellow to ‘get the fuck off the continent, don’t stop to grab the kids’.”

Terezi huffs and melts further into the sweat-tacky cheap pleather of the passenger seat. Her feet are up against the dashboard, her knitting-needle knees level with her eyes. Dave worries that if he brakes too quickly she’ll puncture her face. 

The American Southwest is the approximate color of that yellow marker you accidentally used with the black marker and then left uncapped for the rest of the day. Its also the color of really, really dry dirt for a really long time, and with the exception of a wildly embarassing petrified-tree-licking incident in that gift shop near the Painted Desert, Terezi’s color consumption has remained woefully low. The car is filled with her resentful fug, that the jaw-dropping geology of the Southwest should not be more highly saturated.

Dave coasts the piece of shit rental to a shuddering stop off I-40, half nelsoning the parking brake on while Terezi refolds herself from slouching to sitting to standing outside the car in the baking hot Amarillo breeze. 

“This place tastes like dried-up Twinkie dust and cowshit! If my surprise is here I do not think I want it any more. Take me to the nearest Burger King immediately.”

“How do you even know what Twinkie dust tastes like? They are one of the three foodstuffs to survive the Reckoning, like it is well-known that the last thing in the universe will be Twinkies. God will be stepping over fucking mountain ranges of Hostess snack cakes ‘till the day he turns out the lights, all ‘Damn, wish I hadn’t mentioned to those earth dudes how to manufacture literally indestructible baked goods, that one really bit me in the ass, huh.’”

“Dave, if there is not greasy breaded chicken flesh in my mouth within the next twenty minutes I am revoking your boyfriend license.”

“You are welcome to it, my eternal snack cake, but first, walk through that gate.”

He spins her by her coat-rack shoulders, pushes her towards a breach in the fence that encircles the all-dry-all-the-time pasture. The sky yawns a vasty and dusty blue over the pair as they walk away from the car, Terezi kicking her feet so as to coat Dave’s pants with dirt as thoroughly as possible. A hundred yards from the car the wind shifts, coming up from the south, and Terezi freezes.

“What is that SMELL?” she shrieks, a smile carving her face. She snaps her arm away from Dave’s, runs the last few yards to the first of ten old Cadillacs buried nose-first in the Texas dirt. The former Standards of the World are covered in spray-paint laid on by 38 years’ worth of interstate travelers, leaving at least eight inches of rainbow on every broken husk.

Terezi is covered in dust and paint flecks and who the fuck knows what else by the time Dave catches her, sinking her claws into the multi-colored word vomit of two generations. She has actually drooled onto her shirt, and Dave very seriously wonders where his life went so wrong as his alien prom queen sticks her tongue into the car’s undercarriage.

She’s got her sex face on when she meets his eyes, tongue lolling from her shark-tooth mouth. “This is the best surprise, Dave, I am renewing your license for another life and death of the multiverse! I have not been this happy since we went to the Jelly Belly Factory, and the colors here are even sweeter for they taste of defacement of public property.”

“Uh, it’s actually cool to paint these, they-“

She has put a claw to his mouth. The sex face has grown more intense, and more teeth have appeared. Dave’s testicles attempt to retreat into his body cavity while his dick attempts to get hard. He feels this confusion is unfortunately emblematic of his life.

“Kiss me, Strider.”

“Yes, ma’am— no wait, you just tonguefucked the cowshit-toxic-chemical car, don’t you put that— mmf mfffhhsmm” 

He kisses her back, of course, because he is forever the clownfish to her stupid, sexy, anglerfish, and he supposes her hand on his ass is worth a little hoof and mouth disease.


End file.
